


Old Man

by Celyan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Romance, Using a cane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celyan/pseuds/Celyan
Summary: After an injury during a mission, Bond is not exactly happy about having to use a cane. It’s up to Q to talk some sense into him.





	Old Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MI6 Cafe’s Simple September challenge’s prompt ‘cane’ over at Tumblr. I’m a bit late with this fic because I was unhappy with its ending and had to do some rewriting. (I’m still not entirely happy with it, but it is what it is.) 
> 
> Thanks to Dart for the beta and encouragement, and Christine & Souffle for suggestions when I was feeling stuck.

There’s no way around it, Bond thinks distastefully. The cane makes him look like an old man. 

An established gentleman, perhaps, of the slightly older variety, Q had said, distracted by the screen before him. Which was not exactly what Bond might have wanted to hear, but he’d taken it and done his best to distract his younger lover in a completely different manner. 

Now, three hours later, as he stands by the big mirror of their bedroom, with both cats winding around his feet and the cane - probably marking it as theirs - he cannot but wonder if he can make it work. Or if this is it, the thing that marks the decline of the great James Bond, because there really is no question as to why he’s using the bloody thing. Sleek as it is, its sole function is unmistakably to assist him in walking; it can hardly be thought of as a fashion statement by even the most unobservant of individuals. 

Bond sighs explosively and contemplates the merits of discarding the cane in any case. At least inside the flat, where no one expects him to be in perfect control. Except that perhaps to the cats he’s in control of the treat cabinet, at least when Q’s away or otherwise occupied, but that is hardly a strain in the way being in the field is. 

He hears a faint noise from the other side of the flat, which tells him that Q has come home early for a change. Well, that or he has an incompetent intruder on his hands. Bond much prefers option number one, but he’ll take number two, too, if for nothing else than to take his mind elsewhere for a bit. 

“James?” 

“In here.” 

Bond can hear Q’s footfalls move closer, intermingled with a series of meows and trills followed by Q’s voice when he greets his darlings, and then he’s stepping through the open door to the bedroom, one cat in his arms and the other following close behind. Bond hides his smile despite himself and keeps his eyes trained on the offending cane.

“Why so serious?” Q asks, putting the cat down on the bed and lightly leaning his head against Bond’s shoulder on his good side. “You’re not still brooding over the cane, by any chance?” he continues, and Bond can hear the hint of laughter colouring his voice. 

“Me? Brooding? Hardly.” 

“Could have fooled me.” 

Bond makes a slightly amused sound and wraps an arm around Q’s waist. “You’re home earlier than I expected.” 

“I know,” Q says. “Wanted to make sure that my old man wouldn’t starve here on his own, what with the injury and all.” 

“Cheeky pup,” Bond says, but he tightens his grip on Q all the same. 

“I seem to remember a certain someone using those exact words in my office earlier today,” Q points out. “Besides, I was going to cook for you today in any case.” 

“You were?” 

Q turns his head to face him. “Yes. I’ve not seen you in two weeks, and I missed you.”

“You know I missed you too,” Bond says, softly. 

“So does all of my branch, and most likely half of the building,” Q says, but he doesn’t sound like he terribly minds, so Bond doesn’t bother with acting contrite. Instead, he pulls Q properly into his arms, dropping the cane in the process, and proceeds to snog him silly. He might not currently be up for his usual feats of athleticism, so certain deeds - like picking Q up and having him against the mirror - are out of the question for now, but kissing Q has always been something he excels at. 

When he finally pulls away long enough to properly appreciate the marks he’s made on the right side of Q’s neck, he takes note of the way Q’s breathing has picked up and how he’s all but hanging onto him. Bond thinks that now, if ever, he’s justified in feeling a little bit smug. 

“So,” Q says then pauses to clear his throat, “feeling any better?”

“A little. I fear that more effort is needed before I feel like my regular self again.” 

“Could I feed you - and myself - first, though?” Q asks, clearly amused. 

“All right, then, but only because I _am_ feeling a little peckish,” Bond allows. 

Q chuckles and makes to pull away and pick up the cane Bond had dropped, but Bond shakes his head. “I won’t be needing that here.” 

“But the doctor said,” Q starts, and Bond quiets him with a quick peck on the lips. 

“I have you to lean onto,” he says, simply. 

Q looks at him with the softest of smiles. “That you do.” 

So Bond guides his lover onto his weaker side and puts an arm around his waist. Q’s arm comes around him in return, and together they make their way to the kitchen, the ever curious kitties trailing after them. (They’re probably hoping for a treat or ten, and knowing himself, it’s a more than plausible outcome.) 

Bond can already see it in his mind’s eye: Q, moving around in the kitchen, concentrating on his cooking; and himself, sitting at the table with a cup of tea (because Q is thoughtful like that), surrounded by the cats patiently waiting for their treats. Then dinner and a drink or two, and afterwards watching telly on the sofa with Q in his arms and the cats sleeping on top of them, before retiring to bed for an early night - though this time without the cats. 

He’s rather looking forward to it all.


End file.
